Over fajita onion
fry plate fumigating my hair
you have that look. Indignant
about my lack of expectations.
“You must have them,” you say.
“Princess Enormous” you call me
and laugh, knowing it isn’t true, expect for my butt.
Light in your eyes you beg me to commit
to sopapillas, not noticing
the honey that drips from your lips while
I hand you a napkin.
